


Maybe It Would Be Okay

by RickyDickyNegan



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-25 11:24:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15639765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RickyDickyNegan/pseuds/RickyDickyNegan
Summary: Mr Stark would blame himself for this, and Peter didn't want that. It wasn't Mr Stark's fault.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Might make this a two part, not entirely sure yet. Let me know your thoughts.

Peter was fading fast. The large, familiar hands around his neck squeezing harder, as if their very life and survival depended on crushing the life from him. And maybe, maybe in his lost and twisted state, that was what Tony thought. Because it was Tony, the protective, caring, loving Mr Stark whose callused palms and long fingers encircled Peter's neck, choking him, strangling him.

The same hands that had hugged him just hours ago, the same hands Peter had held during Tony's anxiety attacks, the same hands that held his shoulders in times of comfort. The hands of his friend; the hands of his mentor, the man who he loved like a father. And Tony was using his hands to strangle Peter without remorse or hesitation, fueled by an almost inhuman rage and... fear.

There was _fear_ in Tony's eyes. Tony was afraid of Peter, so afraid of him that he was killing him, and that was so wrong, so unnatural, so inconceivably horrible that seeing the fear broke Peter's heart and chilled him more than his own fear of death, even though that death was ever approaching.

He couldn't struggle any more. Peter felt his eyes bulging, the capillaries bursting, veins near his temples pulsing. The strength was waning from his arms and legs. Peter could no longer hold on to Tony's hands, couldn't pull, couldn't fight for breath. His arms fell limp to his sides.

The pain was unbearable. Peter heard something go crunch, felt the tendons snapping. Somewhere in his mind he mused that Mr Stark might be crushing his windpipe. Peter's rational mind still working in its own little detached world as the rest of him shut down. He should've told him how he felt, that he loved Tony like a father, loved him more than anything, anyone. It wouldn't be long now. He knew that he wouldn't be able to draw a breath even if Tony stopped. It was too late. He was done for.

As spots gathered in his vision and the cold, piercing numbness traveled, crept throughout his body, Peter found himself thinking of the happy times. Even though it were Mr Stark's hands that were sucking his life away, it wasn't _Mr Stark_. Peter knew Tony and knew deep down that he cared for him. And now, in the end, that was enough.

Peter drifted farther, he could barely make out Tony's brown eyes, fearful gaze, could no longer feel the strong, graceful fingers crushing at his neck. He was numb. Sudden horror jumped to the front of Peter's clouded mind, Mr Stark would blame himself for this, and Peter didn't want that. It wasn't Mr Stark's fault.

Whatever this was that had taken him over; this possession, this plague that had turned Peter from loving protege to enemy that had to be destroyed, it _wasn't_ Mr Stark, and it wasn't his destiny either.

But Peter knew that he would think it was. He understood that Tony would see this as his worst nightmare. And the pang of sorrow that drove through Peter's mind made his dying heart ache, in spite of the numbness in his body. Peter wished only that somehow he could ease Mr Stark's mind. Let him know, if only he could speak... but even if his throat wasn't crushed, the monster still had Tony's consciousness in its grasp.

Somehow, somehow after he was gone - _won't be long now_ \- he would have to make sure Mr Stark knew. Peter didn't blame him. He would always be the most important person in his life; not even death could mar that.

He was cold now. The end was here. It had been minutes since even the faintest wisp of air had entered his lungs. His body was dead, only his mind remained. And faced with death, Peter found himself surprised. He always thought he would be fearless, accepting, strong. But instead, _Peter wanted Mr Stark._

He was scared, and lonely, and alone; his mind sobbing with fear and regret even though his body could not make the sounds or produce the tears. But then he knew it was time to let go. Maybe there was nothing he could do, but somehow, maybe it would be okay. Peter let his sightless eyes close and knew no more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony shivered with tremors that strengthened in to full convulsions, unable to look at the body, unable to hold himself together, he collapsed to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested this is chapter two. Please give me your thoughts. Should I continue it or leave it?

Finally, finally the monster was almost dead. The horrible demon that had taunted Tony, threatening Peter - trying to kill his son, trying to destroy them - was almost dead. But Tony had to be sure. He couldn't let this _thing_ , come back to hurt them.

So he just let his hands keep squeezing for a few minutes more, his breath coming in ragged pants, all his energy exerted into that usual one simple task of _stop the monster_ \- it didn't even have a name.

He wasn't sure what it was. He'd thought it had tried to possess him, had felt himself losing control of his body but then snapping back, then losing again, over and over like a rubber band pulled taught and released. But finally he had figured out what it wanted and figured out how to stop it. Whatever it was, the thing had needed to breathe, and its throat crushed nice and easy, like a humans.

But it was gone now; there was no way it was coming back. Tony had protected and saved Peter. He was about to call to him and let out a glorious laugh of joy, but as Tony released his hands from around the monster's throat, the illusion dissolved.

 _Oh god, oh no, Pete, no, no, no, my kid, fuck, fuck, fuck, Peter!_ Tony's mind raced, bile rising in his throat, his stomach turning itself inside out over and over again as he vomited in shock, not yet revulsion. What had just happened, what _he_ had done had not yet caught up with him. It wasn't the monster, it was _Peter_.

But it couldn't be, Peter was behind him, safe. Relief flooded through Tony again, momentarily pushing aside the waves of panic that were crashing and breaking in his mind, sloshing inside, and jostling his sense of self like a fragile boat dashed upon the rocky shore.

He looked behind him to where Peter had been stood, standing amongst debris a few feet away where he'd protected Peter after the monster had attacked, but area around him was deserted. Frantically his eyes searched the debris, rising from where he crouched next to the slumped now-dead body.

He looked behind and under anything he could move or throw aside, his movements desperate, jerky, completely ignoring the pool of vomit when he stepped in it. This couldn't be. Peter had to be safe. He had killed the monster to _save_  Peter, to protect him.

But deep down, from the moment Tony had broken contact with Peter's crushed, bruised, reddened neck, the illusion had snapped. The rubber band of control finally breaking, he had known, the part of him that _knew_ , that _felt_ , that _comprehended_  on a subconscious almost extra-sensory level, the part that could always sense _Peter_ , had known that Peter was gone. _Dead_. Killed by Tony's own hands.

And the horror of it shook him, literally. Tony shivered with tremors that strengthened in to full convulsions, unable to look at the body, unable to hold himself together, he collapsed to the floor. _How could this be possible?_

A nagging voice full of self-hatred and self-doubt pushed itself to the front of his mind. _It's your destiny, Tony; you're a bad person. Just like you feared, Peter was the first casualty. You killed him. You're a monster. You have nothing. You deserve nothing. All alone, scared, and lonely._

Tony sobbed, choking on his tears, other voices in his mind struggled to be heard, coaxing _maybe he's not dead, check his pulse_ , and _what about CPR?_  Tony forced himself to hold together long enough to crawl to Peter's body. Still afraid to look, he let his fingers find their way to Peter's carotid artery, seeking out a pulse.

Of course, there wasn't one. He started to position himself, tipping Peter's head back to start rescue breathing, but the coldness and stillness stopped him. Already, Peter was losing his warmth. And the bruises, the angry, accusing, purple and red imprints of Tony's hands that stood out, stark and vivid against Peter's now ghastly pallid skin, spoke of the damage.

Tony could see that Peter's throat was crushed. Even if he hadn't been too late, even if there had still been time, if Peter's brain hadn't surely long since died of asphyxiation, there would be no way for Tony to deliver air to Peter's lungs. No way to save him. Possibly if they were near a hospital, but not here, not on another planet, not in the middle of nowhere in the abandoned city of titan.

He let go and cried. Tony wasn't sure what he was feeling; rage, anger, self-loathing. One moment he hated Peter for leaving him, the next he hated himself for killing the kid. Then he was just scared and grieving. Unable to comprehend a future without Peter.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be Tony dying, not Peter. The kid who had defied death repeatedly. So how could he be dead, and Tony still be alive?

Part of Tony's mind was still rebelling, as unhappy with the guilt as the grief. _It's not your fault, Tony. It was the monster possessing you, don't let it take even more from you by giving in now. That's not what Peter would want_ , the voice in his head spoke. It was calm, gentle, reassuring. It reminded Tony of Peter's voice. He hadn't been strangling Peter, but the monster. Tony had never wanted to hurt him.

It was him who had been possessed, altered. It had attacked him, not Peter, and so... it was Peter who had paid the price. But that wouldn't make the kid any less dead. It wouldn't shake the knowledge that those were _his_  hand prints staring back at him accusingly from Peter's crushed neck. And he wanted to die.

But, death seemed too easy. Too much of an absolution for such a horrible deed. Tony was a monster. This was his worst nightmare coming true. Without Peter to tether Tony to himself, to give him something to fight for, how would he find his way? Without him, how could Tony be strong? Who would protect him from himself?

He cursed as he stroked Peter's face gently, this wasn't the end, couldn't be the end.


End file.
